


Sleeping Lions

by andrewiel



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Angst, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, andrew says 3 special little words
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-31
Updated: 2018-03-31
Packaged: 2019-04-16 10:07:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14162484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andrewiel/pseuds/andrewiel
Summary: Andrew isn't jealous, he isn't angry, but being apart for one month causes some self-destructive tendencies, shaped into three words he's never said before.





	Sleeping Lions

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, idk really know where this came from, I just wanted to write some sad long-distance andreil (as if I don't write enough of that already....) and did it in the wee hours of the morning, because I'm an idiot.

Five days.

It’s been five days since the last time he heard Neil’s voice. It’s been even longer since he’s seen his face, been close enough to reach out and touch. But that is something he’s grown accustomed to.

Playing on different teams means being apart for weeks at a time. It’s commonplace. Difficult at first, with Neil still in school and Andrew hundreds of miles away. More difficult now, with Neil on a professional team that rivals Andrew’s.

Andrew stares at the call history on his phone, Neil’s name and the date stamped side by side. Five days.

He blows out a stream of smoke and locks his phone before pocketing it and going back inside for practice. Five days isn’t that long. The only reason he keeps track of the date at all is because of the stupid Exy schedule he has to keep to. Five days shouldn’t feel like five months.

It does though, because they’ve never gone more than _one_ day without speaking to each other.

They’re busy. He knows that. Neil’s team lost last week, in a game they should have been guaranteed to win. Any sane captain or coach would have their team on the court practicing non-stop. Then there’s Andrew’s team, who played an away game last night, only to be stuck in the airport as their flight was delayed, then back on the court once the sun had risen. They’re busy.

Despite knowing that, there’s something trapped inside of Andrew’s chest. It doesn’t move or beg to be let out, but rather sleeps; a resting lion, maybe. Five days shouldn’t be as - it shouldn’t be so difficult. It shouldn't bother him. It doesn’t bother him. It -

He’s simply growing tired of the public eye knowing more about Neil’s life than him. Sick of reporters being able to talk to Neil more than he ever gets to.

As he holds his racquet, standing in his goal, swatting away every shot with more force than necessary, he suddenly has the urge to break something. It hits him out of nowhere, taking over his mind in the seconds between having the ball in his net and not having it. His grip around his racquet tightens, as if to snap it, and the next time he smacks the ball, he smacks it hard, not seeing where it goes but hearing an indignant shout from one of his teammates.

It comes flying towards his goal again. It goes flying back.

One second he sees the ball in Kevin’s racquet, then the next second it’s in Freeman’s, then Myer’s, then it’s gone, and then -

It’s too late of a motion, swinging his racquet with such force, because the goal is already lighting up red. Andrew can’t stop it, doesn’t even want to stop it, he wants to break something and if it can’t be himself, then it’ll be this game, this prison.

The racquet slips from his hands and goes flying, with enough speed from the swing to send it colliding into Kevin. The striker shouts as he narrowly dodges it, then turns an aggravated look on Andrew.

“Andrew, snap out of it!” Kevin yells, flipping up his face guard to better see Andrew.

His glare hasn’t ever and will never bother Andrew. He stares at a point past Kevin’s shoulder until someone finally fetches his racquet for him.

The rest of practice isn’t much more exciting, but rather easy, considering he no longer feels the need to put effort into it. He merely bides his time. He doesn’t try. The goal lights up red too many times to keep track of.

Kevin, as always, has plenty to say once they’re in the locker rooms. “This attitude barely carried you through college,” he says, angrily stripping himself of his gear as he stares Andrew down. “You need to try. This is your career now.”

Andrew fixes Kevin with one of his lazy gazes and starts to bite on the tip of his glove. “Through no fault of my own,” he says, pulling the glove off with his teeth.

“Andrew, I need you to take this seriously.”

“How do you know this isn’t my level of seriousness?”

Funny, how years have passed, but Kevin still looks like the bratty twenty year old that Andrew had took in all those years ago when he makes that face and groans that groan. “ _Andrew_.”

“I’m not the one who needs practice,” Andrew says and points in the direction of their other teammates. “If you get off on harping on the lives of the innocent, I suggest finding another victim.”

Kevin rubs at his eyes, either a sign that his fight is over or merely just beginning. Andrew sits down on the bench to wait for his tirade to pass. It was a mistake, oh yes it was, signing to Kevin’s team after graduation.

But then again, Andrew has always been self-destructive.

“Even with their loss last week, the Raiders are three points ahead of us. Neil said he’s on the court every moment that he isn’t sleeping, and that you -”

Not even aware of it, of making himself do it, Andrew is on his feet in seconds. He cocks his head and holds his breath, as to not feed oxygen to the lion in his chest.

“You’ve talked to Neil?” he asks, words quiet and icy, easy to slip on.

Kevin frowns, an expression that Andrew wants to tear off with his bare hands, before saying, “Yes I’ve talked to Neil. He’s -” And then his mouth shuts so fast that his teeth must crack.

“Oh, oh no, Kevin Day,” Andrew says in the same slow tone of voice, but lions don’t sleep forever; he lunges forward to grab Kevin by his jersey, shoving him against the row of lockers behind him. “Don’t be quiet on me now. When did you and Neil speak?”

Kevin swallows roughly and doesn’t meet Andrew’s eyes. Someone is smarter than they look - or dumber.

“Last night,” Kevin answers through gritted teeth. “I called him and we -”

“Hm.” Andrew promptly lets go of Kevin, then starts to disassemble the rest of his gear while Kevin looks on in fearful silence. Once all of his gear is on the bench, Andrew coughs into his hand while looking Kevin dead in the eyes. “This cough sounds contagious. How about I sit out tomorrow’s practice?”

“Andrew -”

“Think of the good of your team, Kevin,” Andrew says before ‘coughing’ again, then pulls on his sweater, not bothering to shower and heads out of the locker rooms, out of the stadium, into his car, and sits there before deciding.

He doesn’t want to go home.

-

It’s just past midnight when he arrives, pulling into the guest parking lot of Neil’s apartment complex. Not once had this seemed like a good idea, but Andrew rarely does anything based on whether it’s good or bad. Now though, staring up at the building, he sees it as more of a fortress that he doesn’t have access to. As if he’s the enemy and Neil is keeping himself guarded inside.

Except there’s a silver key on Andrew’s keyring; permission to come and go as he wishes, his home just as much as it is Neil’s . . .

Andrew gets out of the car and perches himself on the hood, working his way through two cigarettes before the cold bites at his fingertips, rendering them too numb to move. The next logical step would be to go inside, as that’s why he came here, but . . .

But five days, when they haven’t gone _one_.

When Neil has time for Kevin, but not for -

Stupid, this entire thing is stupid, and Andrew isn’t too fond to be losing sleep over it. He is not a jealous man. What’s his is his and he has never had doubt over that, even now. With that, he stubs his last cigarette butt into the concrete below him before taking out his keys, and allowing himself into the building.

It’s a quiet ride up to the seventh floor. Quiet as Andrew walks down the hall. Quiet up until Andrew knocks on Neil’s door, and then it’s quiet again; no footsteps, no movements coming from inside. Andrew knocks once more before using his key to get in.

Neil’s studio is dark and empty; he isn’t the world’s tidiest person, his clean apartment only being a clear sign of how absent he is from it. It’s too late for Neil to still be at practice, but of course the fucking addict is.

There’s no alcohol in the fridge or cupboards, so Andrew settles for a sports drink. He kicks off his shoes and sits on the edge of Neil’s bed to wait. Right against the wall, Andrew’s spot is still in tact. The pillow hasn’t shifted and the blanket is tucked in, while Neil’s side is rumpled from use.

Andrew wishes the drink had at least the smallest amount of vodka before he knocks it back.

He could leave, but it’s past one now. He wouldn’t get back until morning.

So he slumps backwards, head on Neil’s pillow, hating how the scent arrests him, how it _fucking soothes_ this angry lion, lulls it back into sleep.

The sound of a door locking wakes him up some time later. Andrew’s eyes snap open, but he remains laying on the bed as he senses Neil’s approach. Neil walks slowly along the floorboards until he’s near enough to the bed that Andrew can read his expression.

Except he might as well be looking at a stranger.

“Hey,” Neil says, setting his duffel bag down. His hair is damp, a large hoodie cloaking his body. “Andrew?”

Andrew finally sits up and rubs at his eyes. “Why are you practicing until one in the morning?”

“Yeah, after our last game . .” Neil lets out a shameful-sounding laugh, then looks up with curious eyes. “What are you doing here?”

“Do I need a reason?”

“Well, as you said, it’s one in the morning.”

Vision accustomed to the dark now, Andrew can see all of Neil’s features, how tired he looks, how worn down he sounds. The urge to make it better pulls through Andrew’s veins, but there’s something roaring inside of his chest, awake, and it wants to destroy - not fix things.

With Neil right in front of him, his voice in Andrew’s mind and his face in Andrew’s eyes, that caged lion feels feral. A cigarette would help tame it, his fingers twitching for one, but maybe he doesn’t want to tame it.

“Kevin said you spoke last night,” Andrew says, voice steady and gaze hard on Neil.

“We . . . yeah, we did.” Neil folds up his arms and glances down at his feet, a little mouse caught.

“Hm.” Andrew looks at the wall and thinks. Five hour drive and he spent zero of it planning what to say. “Interesting then, that we haven’t spoken in five days.”

He can see Neil nod from the corner of his eye, and the lion wants to strike - not at Neil, no, never. But at the situation, at himself, at the fact that this is happening at all, that he is - affected by it, when he shouldn’t be.

“Kevin called me,” Neil says, leaning only slightly closer into Andrew’s space. “Do you want me to recite all of the statistics he spewed about the Houston Tigers? Because it put me to sleep.”

Andrew taps at the edge of his armbands and doesn’t look back at Neil. “Doesn’t answer my question.”

Neil’s eyes widen before he shouts, “You didn’t ask any!”

Andrew twists around to face Neil then, with the urge to hurt still thriving through his hands.

“Why haven’t we spoken in five days?” he asks with precision, with the sharpness of claws, of teeth.

“Because -” Neil’s breath escapes him when Andrew tugs on the front of his sweater, until he’s between Andrew’s knees. The look he casts on Andrew feels weighted with guilt. “Because . . . I hate it. I hate that something I love so much keeps me apart from you. Sometimes I just know that . . .” He breaks off and places his hands over Andrew’s, curled into the sweater. “Sometimes I want to quit, even though I know I can’t. Talking to you - talking to you only makes it worse, because I _can’t_ , Andrew, but I want to.”

If Andrew cared for regret, he would regret having asked at all.

He stares firmly at Neil’s chest now, not strong enough to look a few inches up and meet Neil’s eyes. That being said, when Neil taps at Andrew’s chin and guides his gaze up, Andrew isn’t strong enough to resist that, either.

“I miss you, and . . . I don’t know. I just knew that calling you would only make me miss you more.”

Andrew scoffs, but moves his hands down to Neil’s hips to hold him still and closer. “Kevin will be heartbroken when I inform him that you don’t miss him in the slightest.”

Neil gives him a weak smile, one which cages up this beast living amongst Andrew’s arteries and organs.

“Somehow I’ll live.”

Perhaps it’s a good thing that he doesn’t care for regret, because rather than beat himself up for being improbable and impatient, he moves onto a new round of emotions; calm and certainty. He pulls Neil into a kiss that he won’t admit he’s missed, moving his hands from Neil’s hips to cradle his face and slip his fingers into his hair.

A possessive and low noise rattles through his chest, only intensifying when Neil leans further into the kiss.

Andrew breaks it to say, “I hate you.”

Neil smiles and says, “Prove it.”

-

One month.

Andrew has a memory like a camera; it captures, saves, dates and never forgets. He can recall the last time he had his hands on Neil’s body as if it happened moments ago, but even so, he can calculate the distance between then and now.

One month ago has nothing on now.

He didn’t forget how well his hands fit around Neil’s waist, but seeing it below him again, feeling the dip of Neil’s body, makes him think he’s been starved of it. Lions get hungry, lions have to hunt, and human beings once parted have to touch.

Neil gives into Andrew’s hands as if he’s been waiting for this since the last moment their skin brushed. They’re shaking more than they should be, Andrew’s hands, but Neil doesn’t comment on it and Andrew doesn’t acknowledge it.

Fingering Neil takes time. For one, Neil is tight, his body unaccustomed to the breach of fingers. For another, Neil likes it too much for Andrew to want to stop. His whines are sweet, loud in the air and cried so desperately that it settles this wild and unnerving fear he has that Neil doesn’t miss _this_. It’s addicting, because Andrew has always been a fan of sweet things.

Neil’s hips jerk as if to climax, and that’s when Andrew pulls out. Neil whines again, this time with more heat to it, but Andrew shushes him, kisses those lips that belong to him, then lays on his back on his side of the bed.

Before he can fully form the thought, he’s grabbing Neil by the hips and pulling Neil on top of him.

Neil’s weight across his lap feels different. Different to Neil too, as he gazes down at Andrew in confusion.

Andrew pulls him down by the back of his neck and kisses him, before working his boxers down enough to free his cock. Neil catches on and begins to roll his hips backwards, the head off Andrew’s cock brushing against his ass cheeks. It prompts a moan, a startled one, enough to settle Andrew’s unease at the world being altered like this.

“Tell me if -” Neil gasps and throws his head back when Andrew guides himself to Neil’s hole, nudging wetly against the rim. “If you want me - on my back.”

Andrew nods, but he knows what he wants, and he wants to remember the precise weight of Neil over his body for the following days, weeks, months that they’ll be apart.

From this angle, all of Andrew’s senses are Neil. He looks up to see him. He runs his hands down his back to touch him. He pushes into his ass and feels him, all of him, clench and tremble and accept.

All the power is up to Neil; how fast he wants to go, how hard he wants Andrew inside of him, the decision to pull off and away if he wants to.

And yet, after a round of chaotic thrusting, the fast slide of his slick heat up and down the length of Andrew’s cock, Neil lowers himself to Andrew’s chest. He braces himself just above Andrew, not enough to smother, but enough that Andrew can feel his temperature, his racing heart.

All the power goes to Andrew; his hands grasp at Neil’s hips to control the pace, pushing and pulling Neil onto and off of him. Weeks spent apart, by forces above their heads, but nothing else can touch them here.

Nothing else can pry them apart, not when it’s Andrew’s decision to hold onto Neil, and Neil’s decision to let him.

Andrew feels the swollen bump of Neil’s prostate and slows the thrust of their bodies, then guides Neil by the hips so he can grind himself against Andrew’s cock. Neil’s body jerks and stutters before he drops his forehead to Andrew’s chest, heaving out a breathless curse.

To stop from making a similar noise of his own, Andrew bites at Neil’s shoulder. The pressure around him is suffocating in ways that make him never want to breathe again.

He gets what Neil meant now. His skin and his voice and the way that he fits into Andrew’s hands is a balm to a burn, but once Andrew leaves, and goes back to his own team, his own city, his own home, he’ll begin to burn again.

He’ll begin to burn more.

Andrew wraps one arm around Neil’s waist, hand splayed out on his lower back to keep the pace and to steady him as his muscles begin to strain and break. Neil’s own muscles shift and tense and respond to Andrew’s as if they’re connected, as if their bodies simply know how to react when touched by the other.

He hates it. He hates many things. He hates Neil. He hates Neil for allowing him in. He hates the distance for keeping them apart. He hates that it affects him. He hates that he -

“I love you,” Andrew gasps out, the words pressed against the curve of Neil’s neck. He bites down on the nearest patch of skin, but it’s too late, the words are out there, and for a man who doesn’t care for regret, he feels it then, in those seconds of silence, when Neil goes perfectly still above him.

Neil looks down at him for a long, dreaded moment before closing his eyes and touching his nose to Andrew’s. There’s a smile on his lips, small but secure. It never fades. Not even when Andrew flips them over, shoves Neil’s knees to his chest, and fucks him with enough speed and strength to make the bed frame shake.

He doesn’t want to take it back. Andrew is no coward. The scariest part about being in love is falling in love, and Andrew is far past the point of that.

Andrew comes when Neil kisses him and he can still feel that ridiculous smile of his. He bends Neil’s body with his own, pushes and pulses into him, and finally lays his lion to rest.

Still inside of Neil, Andrew reaches between them to finish Neil off. Andrew closes his eyes at the sound of Neil’s high-pitched cry, no longer needing to see. He has a perfect memory; to forget this would require surgery, the removal of his mind.

Once Neil’s stopped trembling so bad, Andrew sits up, tugging his boxers back on before reaching for Neil’s discarded hoodie, using it to wipe at the mess on his hand and Neil’s stomach.

Neil lays there with that stupid smile of his fixed across his lips. Andrew throws the hoodie at him.

“I thought you hated me,” Neil says, too soft and quite for a boy with such a sharp tongue. He fiddles with the hoodie now dumped in his lap, wrapping the string around his finger while avoiding Andrew’s eyes.

Andrew looks over his shoulder after pulling his shirt on and contemplates his next words, then grabs at Neil’s jaw to bring those blue eyes to his. “I do,” he says, with the same strength he uses to make promises. “There isn’t a difference.”

Neil leans into Andrew’s hand and closes his eyes. “Terrible job at proving it then,” he murmurs, before pressing in for one more kiss.

Andrew pushes the idiot away, only to be rewarded with a laugh. As soon as he hears it, he knows he’ll be replaying it every moment that they’re apart.

And even when they’re not.

**Author's Note:**

> If you're reading SOTL or TPP, I'm still working on both of those, just needed a lil break! Please leave a comment if you enjoyed this!
> 
> Reblog it [here on tumblr](http://jostenminyard.tumblr.com/post/172457628466/sleeping-lions-andrewneil) to spread the word! ♥


End file.
